


scrapbooks

by hambamthankyoumaam (Random13245)



Series: snapshots (of a life once lived) [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cliche, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't normally write fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Scrapbooks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, shrugs, this ended up a lot longer than anticipated whoops it's 1k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random13245/pseuds/hambamthankyoumaam
Summary: Once it was done, he flipped back through it, making sure one last time that everything was perfect. It had to be perfect.In place of the last page, John taped in some paper folded accordion-style so at first glance it was just the word “will” written in big, capital letters. But, once unfurled, the full phrase came clear:“Will you marry me?” John spoke the words out loud, rehearsing mentally, psyching himself out already.or; john proposes, what happens next will probably not surprise you!





	scrapbooks

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sleep deprived and I'm very much an angst writer so those two things combined have created this fluffy mess

John arranged the photos perfectly. But then they got shifted, ever so slightly, and everything was wrong again. He sighed, sweeping the pictures off the page and starting over.

The first was a picture of Alexander sitting in the coffee shop during their first date- if it could be called that. Next came a candid shot of Alexander in the car, the cliche kind with the sunlight hitting just right on his cheekbones. He tilted each picture to a precise angle, overlapping them just slightly.

The paper crinkled under his stressed flailing. He sighed, tearing the page out of the small scrapbook, and starting over. This time, as soon as he had the two photos for the first page laid out, he slathered glue down on the page and pressed the pictures into it. He tried to patiently wait for it to dry before turning the page.

He angled two more pictures- both attempts at candid shots that were foiled by Alexander noticing the camera. They were still good photos, though, perfectly framing Alexander laughing with his friends, the only thing holding it back was the slight tilt towards the camera indicating his awareness of the photo being taken. He glued them down and turned the page. This continued with various sets of pictures, mostly of Alexander, but a few included himself. He set up the scrapbook, adding little details to the empty space on each page- small filler designs, flowers, whatever felt right.

Once it was done, he flipped back through it, making sure one last time that everything was perfect. It had to be perfect.

In place of the last page, John taped in some paper folded accordion-style so at first glance it was just the word “will” written in big, capital letters. But, once unfurled, the full phrase came clear:

“Will you marry me?” John spoke the words out loud, rehearsing mentally, psyching himself out already.

He sighed in an attempt to calm his nerves. On the back hard cover of the scrapbook, he'd tape a pocket-shaped piece of paper and slid the ring- a simple gold wedding band- inside. He did one more check to be completely sure, absolutely positive that everything was in order.

He closed the scrapbook, and settled it within the pile of the other ones he'd been keeping over the years. Being a photographer, sometimes he needed someplace to put all of his picture in physical structure.

_“It brings the pictures to life, makes them real.” John says, justifying his collection of scrapbooks to Alexander, who, though he didn't say it out loud, was clearly questioning it._

_“That's stupidly poetic. I love it.”_

Objectively, the scrapbook melded in with the others, there was nothing exceptional about it that made it stand out, or seem different. But John couldn't not see it first when he looked at the scrapbook pile. It immediately drew his eye. Alexander had to notice, how could he not notice, looked so off, so out of place.

He didn't, though. Not when he returned home from work- still working with George Washington but having been promoted by now. He still occasionally tended to the garden, but only ever with John and his camera. John speculated that Alexander secretly liked taking care of the plants from time to time, it was much simpler and less stressful than his usual brand of work.

Not when he laid in their bed, sprawling out for a moment before curling into himself the way John learned he does. John joined him, relishing the warmth that soothed his anxiety and managed to tear his attention away from that scrapbook.

The next night was their usual date night- typically involving watching shitty movies on Netflix and spending more time with their faces against the other than actually angled towards the TV- but tonight, John had said he had something else planned.

He led Alexander out to the nearby park, another location with flora and fauna that wasn't so illegal to visit. They talked and walked through the paths for a bit before Alexander seemed to get restless.

“John, not that this hasn't been fun, but I feel like there's a bigger point here.” Alexander said, suspicion edging his voice.

“Yeah.” John said concisely. He took the scrapbook from the pocket on the inside of his jacket- he felt distinctly like one of those cliche drug dealers in movies, opening his coat but instead offering his heart- and handed it to Alexander. He began flipping through it, staying on certain pages longer than others, finding himself so lost in the memories that he stopped walking.

“John, this is beautiful.” He said about halfway through.

“Keep going.” John persisted.

“Okay, okay.” It took maybe another minute- a minute too long in John's opinion- for him to reach the last page. At first, his brows furrowed with confusion, as it appeared exactly as intended; just a single word. But then he tried to turn the page and ended up pulling out the accordion page with a quiet gasp. As Alexander breathed out, John breathed in, preparing what he wanted to say.

“Alexander Hamilton.” He started, but then faulted, pausing for a moment too long- a pregnant pause, he remembered his long-gone drama teacher’s saying.

“You don't need to give me the speech, John.” Alexander said, his words having no bite as he couldn’t break the smile that smothered his face.

“Okay… well,” he took the ring out of the paper pocket and dropped himself down to one knee- he wasn't one to abandon cliches halfway. “Will you marry me?” He said aloud, hearing the words echo through the dark and empty park.

“Of course I will, idiot.” Despite the sharpness of the words, they carried none of it as Alexander was still smiling, unable to form the proper mouth shape to express any kind of mockery.

John stood and couldn't stop himself before he was kissing Alexander. “I love you.” He said quietly.

“I love you, too. Now, let’s go home, it's fucking cold.”


End file.
